Hypnotized
by KatLeePT
Summary: Buffy asks Spike to sing for her. Het.


Buffy's fingers thread gently and slowly through Spike's blonde hair where his head lays on her chest. She knows he's listening to her heart and likes the sound, and although it once did, it no longer chills her to think that a Vampire is listening to her heartbeat. Spike has proven himself to her time and again: He may be a Vampire - he may always be a Vampire, especially if Angel gets the shanshu as predicted -, but he's not only no ordinary Vampire. He is the one man in all the world who loves her so much he would literally do anything for her, go any mile, fight any foe, endure any obstacle. He loves her even more than Angel, who wouldn't try to be with her again after what happened the last time.

Her earlier words repeat through her head, and Buffy smirks. _Do anything for her, go any mile, fight any foe, endure any obstacle._ They almost sound like words of a song. Suddenly, her mind flashes back on another night that feels so long ago but, in truth, was only a few years back. She doesn't remember much about their time under the spell, but she does remember Spike singing a ballad - and what a voice he had! "Do you ever sing?" she whispers.

"What?" he asks in surprise.

"Do you ever sing?" she repeats, her voice a little higher. "I was just remembering that musical Demon." Spike's mouth opens but shuts as she continues, "I don't remember much about what he had us sing, but I remember you had one helluva set of vocal chords."

"That was the spell," he murmurs, but she hears the change in his voice, feels the subtle change in his posture, and knows he's blushing - at least, as much as a Vampire ever can blush.

"I bet it wasn't," she tells him. "Sing something for me, Spike?"

He leans up, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of her torso. "What?" he asks, gazing into her green eyes.

"Sing something for me," she repeats.

"You know I'd do anything for you," he murmurs, the words escaping him before he can stop them. His deep laughter is meant to keep her from noticing his pale skin turning a slighter darker shade. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything," she says with a shrug. "I don't care. You can sing _Old McDonald_. I just want to hear your voice."

"Heh. You asked for it." He lays back, pulling her with him and wrapping his arms tenderly around her.

Her fingers splay openly across the shoulder of his leather duster. "Yes," she agrees eagerly, "I did." But, knowing he's embarrassed, she doesn't look back up at him. Instead she waits patiently, wondering what song he will choose or if he might make up something on the spot. She knows he used to fancy himself to be a poet, even if he admits now that his poetry back then was bad, but never once does she consider that he might not do it. After all, she's asked him to do it for her.

And indeed, Spike does start to sing softly in a few more minutes. "She knew she caught my eye, and that was all it took. Ain't it strange how forever changed with just one look? The magic filled the night.  
She touched my soul like no one else. Yes, the way that woman made me feel left me talking to myself."

For a moment, listening to his words, she remembers finding him in the church, watching him burn himself, realizing that he had endured unspeakable torment in order to get his soul back and try to make himself worthy of her. She still hadn't wanted to look at him back then, but now, looking back, she knows the real reason why. She didn't know what to do with him, or about him, or _for_ him. She hadn't been able to stand seeing him torture himself, but she also hadn't been able to stop him. And all the while, he had done it because he loved her - her, the Slayer whose love life never worked out, the Slayer who kept coming back from the dead, the Slayer who didn't deserve the love he'd been trying so hard to give her.

It had taken her a long time to appreciate all he gave to her so freely, let alone to allow herself to love him back, but Spike had never once gave up on her. Even when she'd died again, he'd continued loving her. Her gift was death, not love, and yet he had never once stopped loving her. Now she listens to him pour his love out in softly sang words and feels every decibel of emotion. When he's finished, silence hangs in their bedroom for a long moment until he breaks it, condemning himself as usual, "Heh. You asked, Slayer."

"I did," she agrees, snuggling in closer to his embrace, "and I don't regret it." She looks up into his eyes, noticing, not for the first time, how beautiful and piercing a blue they are. He's always seemed to somehow see right through her, right pass all her barricades and lies, even the lies she once told herself, to her very heart. "That was beautiful." She barely stops herself from saying, _You're beautiful._ That's a term generally used for women, not guys, and she imagines he probably wouldn't appreciate it. "Did you write it?" she asks softly instead.

"No." He shakes his head. She starts to ask him where the song came from, but before she can, he shrugs. "Picked it up somewhere along the years." He'll be damned if he'll admit to liking some country music, even if the genre does include some pretty awesome love ballads. He remembers the song he sang for her when they were all cursed, and maybe he'll sing it again one night, but not tonight. Tonight, he leans his head down and finally claims what's his, taking her lips with his and kissing her fully, passionately. His tongue sweeps home into her hot mouth, entwining with hers, as his hands pull her closer, as closer to him as they can.

He might not have written the song, but he meant every word of it. His Slayer always has had the power to hypnotize the moon, but far more than that, she hypnotized him long ago. Even before he knew what was happening, she had made him hers, and hers he will always remain. He breaks their kiss to whisper only, "I love you, Buffy," then goes back to making sweet love to her with his lips, tongue, and hands, a slow, sensuous dance that evolves hours later with other body parts after their clothes are gone.

The End


End file.
